Complicated
by VCCV
Summary: Derek wasn't aware that Stiles was so complicated, until he was threatened with his loss.


Disclaimer: The boys aren't mine.

Word Count: 2300ish

Prequel/Sequel: None  
>Author Notes: Thank you to my beta, komoflage. You inspire me. <p>

_Red. Blue. Red._

_Red. White. Red._

_Red. _

_Red._

_Red._

_"Get them out of here! They're blocking the fire engine!"_

_"Scott? Where is Stiles?"_

_"No, no, no, no…"_

_"Scott? Scott, answer me. Where is Stiles?"_

_"Oh, God! Oh, no…"_

_"Snap the hell out of it, McCall! Where is Stiles?"_

In the short time since Stilinski had invaded his life, Derek had never experienced more irritation, or amusement. The boy lived to aggravate, and he did it well. But, in-between bouts of exasperation, Derek found Stilinski almost…. cute? Like a puppy. An annoying, yappy, puntable puppy. The kind that chews your shoes to pieces, tail wagging the whole time.

In the few weeks since Stilinski overran his life, Derek had experienced more emotion than any time since the fire. Granted, it was mostly anger, aggravation and annoyance, but it wasn't the dead fog he'd lived in for the last six years. And puppy-like Stiles was damned hilarious, especially when he wasn't trying. His vain attempts to take charge, to stand up for himself, were entertaining as well as frustrating. Sometimes, just like a wolf pup, Derek was sure the boy existed to test Derek's control of the wolf.

When it counted, though, when they needed him, Stiles always came through. Regardless of fear or lack of knowledge or orders to the contrary, Stiles had their backs. He was loyal as any pack member and fought with a protective ferocity seldom seen in a human.

In the brief time since Stilinski imposed a whole new set of rules in his life, Derek had decided he wanted him to stay there.

_"Derek Hale! Don't move! You are under arrest for murder…and potentially arson."_

_"I didn't…Who the hell did this, Scott? Scott, answer me!"_

_"Hands in the air, Hale. Don't do anything stupid."_

_"My son! My son is in there! Oh God…my son…"_

Stiles' relationship with his father was a point of both envy and grief for Derek. He could see that the Sheriff would move the heavens and Earth for his son. He remembered when his own father would have done the same. He would never begrudge Stiles his father's attention, especially with the loss of Mrs. Stilinski, but he couldn't stop the sad longing for his own childhood.

Sheriff Stilinski was a conundrum. Derek was sure that the man would arrest him on sight, probably with a smile on his face. But, Stiles had told Derek about his father's doubts. Doubts which only found the light of day through the bottom of a bottle, but that didn't make them of less consequence. Sheriff Stilinski wasn't sure Derek was quite the evil, serial murderer that everyone thought.

And then there was Stiles. The man loved his son. He knew Stiles was a smart, insightful kid. They'd both had to grow up with the loss of their wife and mother. For all that the Sheriff wanted to give Stiles his childhood, he had obviously come to depend on Stiles as an emotional peer. What would happen if Stiles told his father that Derek wasn't guilty? That Derek was actually the good guy in this scenario? That Derek was his…friend? Would the Sheriff's heart overrule his head? With a good man like the Sheriff behind him, Derek almost stood a chance of clearing his name.

_"Derek? Derek, stop! What are you doing?_

_"Hale! Stop or we'll shoot! Hale, goddamnit!"_

_"You can't go in there! Hey, wait! Hale, stop! You can't go in there; it's about to collapse."_

_"Sheriff, stop him! Sheriff?"_

_"…my son."_

_"Sheriff! You can't go in there. I'm sorry…Stop struggling, sir. Stop. You can't help. It's too late. No one else is coming out of there alive. It's too late."_

_"Stiles…God, Stiles! I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Goddamnit, I'm never there! Never when it counts_.

Stiles had always been 'weird' around Derek. Of course, that probably had something to do with the constant death threats and promises of limb removal. Recently, however, 'weird' had become weirder. Stiles used to stumble over his words, backpeddling when Derek loomed over him. Lately, Stiles stumbled over words, stuttered, muttered, flushed and acted nervous as hell when Derek got in his face…but he didn't backpeddle.

Even with Derek's enhanced hearing, he could only catch one word in three. From what he could pick out, Stiles seemed to be awfully concerned about Derek's workout, clothing choices and eyelashes, for some reason. Derek caught Stiles watching him more often than not, as well. And not watching in preparation for the inevitable smack on the back of his head Derek couldn't help but to deliver; rather, watching with an intense focus Derek could actually feel skitter over his body.

Derek had attempted to question the only other person who might know what Stiles was thinking: Scott. He wasn't sure if Scott knew and was too embarrassed to say—given the blushing and mumbling about personal lives being personal—or just didn't know and was making up the next NC-17 porn story in his head. Either way, Scott's responses served only to make Stiles' behavior more confusing.

_"It's coming down! Everybody move back; it's coming down!"_

_"Chief, in the doorway! He's coming back out…he got him! Holy shit, he got him!"_

_"What the hell are you waiting for? Get some goddamned water on that doorway! Move! Move!"_

_"Medic! We need a medic down here!"_

_"Put the flames out, for Christ's sake! Don't drown him."_

_"Stiles? Stiles! Oh, dear God, Stiles! My son, my boy…my son."_

It didn't help that Derek's feelings toward Stiles were becoming more complicated, as well. Yes, Stiles stared at him a hell of a lot; but Derek only knew that because he was staring back. The smacks to the head were gentling—not stopping, because really, Derek had a reputation to protect. And pseudo-pack or not, Stiles' safety and happiness were just as central to Derek's well-being as Laura's had been.

Laura would have adored Stiles. They both had a boundless well of love and loyalty. They both stepped up and became what the others in the pack needed them to be. Selflessness and irritation, that's what little Stiles and Laura were made of. Derek knows beyond a doubt that those two would have spent endless hours giggling in corners and planning increasingly embarrassing things to do to Derek and Scott.

_"It's okay, sir. We've got him now. Mr. Hale, we've got him. You can let go. Sir, you've got to put him—Holy fucking shit, what's wrong with your face? Okay! Okay…Jesus, okay! He's yours…you've got him!"_

_"Hale! Hands in the air, and step away from the boy. You are under arrest."_

_"Are you kidding me? Deputy Douchebag, didn't you see what he just did?"_

_"McCall, get out of the way…boy, I will arrest you for obstructing justice."_

_"What the fuck is your problem?"_

_"Hale…Derek, you need to put the boy down. Shhh…shhh, it's okay. The medics are here. They need to check him out. No,its okay. I promise you. It will be all right. Just put your…fangs away. His daddy's here; he wants to see his boy real bad. Please…son…put him down. Let us help him."_

_"Out of the way, McCall! Hale, you are—"_

_"Deputy, if you don't shut the everloving-hell up, I will have the Sheriff arrest iyou/i!"_

Derek had seriously thought he would die from the aconite-laced bullet. He'd never felt pain like that before. It wasn't the kind of pain you could bandage. The initial wound was nothing. Yes, bullet holes hurt like shit, but Derek knew that kind of injury. He knew it would heal. The wolfsbane crept through his blood like sludge. It slowed his reactions, numbed his mind and left him helpless. Just when he thought he couldn't take anymore, the infection spread another inch into his body.

He thought asking Stiles to cut his arm off was completely reasonable considering the circumstances. Derek felt badly, knowing something traumatic like hacking someone's arm off would haunt the boy for a long time to come, but he was at the end of his rationality. If he thought he could have stayed conscious long enough, he would have gnawed his own arm off. He truly considered it, but in a more lucid moment realized that ingesting the poison would just spread it all around his body. He was a moment away from begging Stiles to just let him die when the cavalry had arrived.

For as much pain as the poisoning caused; for the agony of four razor sharp claws through his chest; for the brain-melting ache of electricity coursing through his body; he had never felt pain quite as acute, intense, sharp, as he did watching Stiles fight for his life. He could only kneel helplessly, dragging air through his scorched lungs, wishing he could give his last breath to Stiles.

The stillness was like a punch in the gut. Stiles was never still. Even in his sleep, he twitched and mumbled. Derek had spent many a night holed up in Stiles' room trying to control his urge to choke the boy for a single minute of silent peace. Derek would hand over his soul right now if Stiles made a single twitch, gave a single breath.

The medics moved in, swarming Stiles' body, cutting off Derek's view. Only then did he realize that he wasn't alone. Kneeling next to him, looking as wrecked as Derek felt, was Stiles' father. Derek had never been one for physical expressions of affection; he still had no idea where to put his hands when Stiles sprang a sneak-attack 'man-hug' on him. But the helpless grief he knew his own face reflected wouldn't be ignored.

Derek inched back, moving closer to the Sheriff, giving the medics room to work. He didn't really need to see anyway; he'd know the second Stiles' heart began beating again. Instead, he lifted a shaking hand and clasped the Sheriff's shoulder. The man turned his head and there were Stiles' eyes, looking back into his.

Derek caught his breath, not a smart idea when his lungs were still attempting to heal. The resulting noise sounded more like a sob that Derek would admit. But, the Sheriff just gave a short nod, returning his gaze to the medics' backs. Derek tensed to remove his hand, uncomfortable and unsure what to do next, but his hand was captured.

They certainly weren't holding hands; that would have been way too much for either one of them to handle, Derek thought. But, the gentle pressure of the Sheriff's hand, pressing Derek's back onto his shoulder, was comforting for them both.

Derek was vaguely aware of the Deputy screeching in the background, demanding to be allowed to arrest his criminal. He realized that Scott had dropped to a crouch behind him, resting his own hands on both older men's shoulders. Dimly, he knew the firefighters were getting a handle on the inferno the building had become. But, everything was hazy, too indistinct to focus in on. Derek was totally absorbed with listening for that missing, precious heartbeat.

It was so long. The silence extended until Derek thought he'd scream. He felt his teeth elongating again, like they had when the medic had tried to pry Stiles from his hold. A faint prickling began behind his eyes; he was blaming that on the change—even if it had never before happened. Then…

_lub dub…lub dub_

_"We've got him! Get that oxygen on him, and let's get him in the ambulance."_

All of the adrenaline, not only the part fueling the change, but also the part keeping Derek upright, rushed out of his body. He collapsed in a small heap, curling in on his knees and pulling his hand from the Sheriff's grasp. The prickling behind his eyes began again, and this time he didn't even try to brush it off as anything else. The tears were cleansing, washing away the terror of the last few minutes, washing away at least a little of the guilt. His shoulders shook with the power of the silent sobs wracking his chest.

A hand slid over the back of his neck, gently grasping it in a movement that was uncannily reminiscent of Derek's father. A puff of air was expelled next to Derek's face, the scent of spearmint momentarily cutting through the acrid stench of the smoke.

"Son, I don't know how you know my boy, or how you got him out of that house. I'm guessing it's quite the story though." The Sheriff's hand squeezed again. "The next time I see you, I'm hoping you have an answer to both." Derek slowly turned his head, meeting the solemn gaze beside him. The Sheriff nodded once. "There's a lot of noise and confusion around here. Lots of people milling around. Doesn't surprise me that you used the commotion to escape again."

Derek hastily wiped at his eyes, coming back up to his knees. The Sheriff's hand slipped from his neck, and the ghost of a smile appeared on his face. "Don't leave it up to Stiles to tell me what the hell is going on. He tends to butcher stories to the point of incomprehensibility." He jerked his head to the side. "Go, Hale. Before I change my mind." His smile firmed up a little.

Derek, wide-eyed and nervous, got to his feet. When the Sheriff didn't move from his own kneeling position, Derek's confidence grew, and he tensed to run.

"Hale." Derek froze, cutting his eyes back to the older man. The Sheriff nodded again. "Thanks." Derek cautiously returned the nod, and then he bolted for the safety of the trees.

The Sheriff was turning out to be almost as complicated as his son. Derek knew he'd find his way back to the Stilinski house, though; he couldn't give Stiles the satisfaction of telling the story by himself.


End file.
